


The Press Conference

by TheRaven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Outing, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Press Conference, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is calling for Bucky's head on a pike after the Winter Soldier is taken into protective custody by S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of dumped into a federal prison, and the outrage only increases after it's revealed that Bucky will become part of the Avengers. And when Steve and Bucky's relationship becomes public knowledge, the Avengers are forced to call a press conference to ease the public's fears and fury. Things...don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that this has probably been done before, but I had it in my head I wanted to do this, so I wrote it anyway. Hopefully, it will be enjoyable for y'all. Minor warnings for mentions of homophobic violence, cussing, and blatant soap-boxing. Also hopefully, it won't be too self-indulgent for y'all to stomach. You'll see the part I mean. I did have a lot of fun writing this, though, and I guess that's what counts in the end. Still feeling out my interpretation of post-movies Bucky, so please be gentle. But mostly, I hope y'all have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

They find him in Siberia, living alone in a shack on the outskirts of a small village. It takes three months, two weeks, and four days. Not that Steve has been counting. S.H.I.E.L.D. is tattered but not completely destroyed, and they mobilize what little assets they have left to bring Bucky back to the States.

The government wants him in federal custody, of course. He's caused more than enough damage to have a lot of people clamoring for his head on a pike. S.H.I.E.L.D. won't let them do that, though, and they place him in protective custody until further notice. Bucky doesn't like it, but he's got his mind back just enough to know they don't mean to hurt him, so he complies without much fuss. Perhaps because he's so used to following orders that changing masters isn't a big deal to him.

S.H.I.E.L.D. assembles what remains of their psychiatric team to examine Bucky and determine whether his memories are salvageable. In the end, it takes six months, three weeks, and two days for them to declare his treatment a success. He doesn't remember everything—the torture is mercifully lost to him—but he has a good enough handle on his life to be cleared for release.

Which is when the trouble starts.

The news media, previously grumbling but mostly quiet about Bucky's incarceration at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, erupts with a fury when news breaks that Bucky is to be released. Even when details emerge that he is only to be allowed on S.H.I.E.L.D. property, Stark property, and select, well-secured other outings, there is a general public outcry against him. They've seen the damage the Winter Soldier can do, they know who he was working for, and they think he is not to be trusted.

Bucky doesn't do much to discourage them. He has most of his memories back, but the trauma and guilt of killing so many people over the years has caused a darkness to linger in him, even after intensive therapy with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s psychiatric team. He's not the same Bucky he was during the war, and he might never be again. It's something Steve has to live with.

However, Bucky seems to find solace in Steve's arms. When given his own floor at Stark Tower, he abandons it for Steve's, gradually moving his clothes into the expansive closet and taking his meals in the kitchen included on the floor, even though everyone else eats in the communal kitchen a few floors down. Steve keeps it stocked with good food so that Bucky will never have to leave his quarters if he doesn't want to, which he usually doesn't.

Eventually, he's offered a place with the Avengers. He still doesn't want to leave Steve's floor, but he reluctantly accepts, because while he can't erase his past sins, he can at least try to be a good man now. They keep him close, use him sparingly, and let him keep mostly to himself. When he does go out on missions, it's with Steve. The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have their gossip, but Steve is happy, and Bucky seems happy, so they let it go.

But the public doesn't. Bucky's promotion from ward to full-fledged Avenger is cause for outrage. Coulson commands the Avengers to refrain from comment until the official press release was ready, which suits Bucky just fine. Unfortunately, Thor has never beeh very good at keeping his mouth shut, something he proves again three days after the news breaks.

“Is it true that the Winter Soldier is now an active part of the Avengers?” a reporter calls out from a throng of paparazzi as Thor is hustled from a car to the entrance of Stark Tower.

“Of course!” he booms, stopping in his tracks. “And a fine fellow he is!”

“Don't you think having a known assassin on the team will affect the public image of the Avengers?” another calls out.

“Why should it?” Thor asks, “The Black Widow has had a difficult past, and we accept her wholeheatedly!”

“But she never tried to kill any of your members,” the second reporter points out, emboldened.

“The Soldier of Winter has also had a very difficult past,” Thor says a little more gently, “and cannot be blamed for his past actions.”

“Aren't you worried it could have an effect on team relations?” the first reporter asks.

“Relations?” Thor asks, perplexed. “The only relations I am aware of are those between the Captain and the Soldier of Winter!”

Which is a bombshell.

“You do realize we'll have to call a press conference now,” Coulson says, long-suffering, in the meeting room at Stark Tower. “If you had waited two more days, Thor, we would've been able to smooth this all over.”

“My apologies,” Thor replies, a little sheepish. “I was perplexed by the question.”

“Well,” Coulson says, “what's done is done. We'll be able to spin this at the press conference somehow. Say you didn't understand the question or cite the differences between Asgardian and Earth societies.”

“No,” Steve says, surprising them all. “I don't want to pretend this isn't happening.”

Bucky looks up, angry and afraid.

“What do you mean?” he asks quietly.

“I mean I want to go public with this,” Steve says. “The cat's already out of the bag, so why not?”

“Why not?” Natasha laughs. “They're gonna eat you alive, Steve. Captain America sleeping with a known assassin? One they've seen kill people? No offense, Bucky.”

“None taken,” Bucky grunts.

“But you see what I mean,” Natasha continues. “People might be understanding to a point, Steve, but this is still humanity we're talking about. We're messy, violent creatures, and we don't like things we don't understand.”

“I believe that people will understand if we give them a chance,” Steve says confidently, and no one has the heart to tell him otherwise.

“Fine,” Coulson says, “but everything you say has to be approved beforehand. I'll schedule the conference for two days from now. Think that's enough time to get ready?”

“Of course,” Steve replies with a dazzling smile. “Everything will be okay.”

Everything won't be okay, Bucky mutters under his breath, but Steve doesn't hear him.

And that night, as they lie together in bed, Steve writes a first draft, then a second draft of what he plans to say. Bucky has no such obligation and will probably just sit stoically next to Steve for the duration of the conference, staring daggers at anyone who gets too smart with their questions. Steve puts the notepad and pen down on the nightstand after a solid couple hours of writing and scratching things out and leans over to kiss Bucky gently, sweetly, goodnight.

Bucky still has nightmares, but Steve keeps him anchored when he wakes up screaming. He holds him, reassures him that everything is okay, that he's okay, that he's safe, that he's one of the good guys. Bucky never believes the last one, but Steve keeps repeating it anyway. That night, Bucky has a particularly bad bout of night terrors, and Steve sits up with him, press conference forgotten, until he falls into fitful sleep again.

He'll have to mention the nightmares, he decides, even though Bucky would probably prefer he not. They'll make him seem more human. That anyone could be scared of Bucky, Steve can't fathom, but he knows academically that the wider public is terrified of him and that anything to lessen that terror will be good. He shows his third draft of his statement to Coulson, who tells him to scrap the nightmares part and focus on team morale.

By the time the conference rolls around, Steve has written eight drafts of his statement. Bucky has gotten more and more grumpy as the days go by, and by now, he's positively bone-chilling when he so much as looks at anyone. Anyone but Steve, who just smiles at him and tells him to cheer up, because things can't possibly go that wrong. And of course they can, they always can, but Bucky seems to appreciate the cheerfulness, if the ghost of a smile that crosses his features is any indication. To anyone else, it would be imperceptible, but Steve knows how to read Bucky, even in his current state.

The Avengers take their seats at the table on a raised platform erected specifically for the conference. Bucky sits between Steve and Thor, who takes the opportunity before their mics are turned on to tell him how sorry he is that he caused such a mess for him and Steve. Steve is pretty sure the reporters hear it anyway.

And then the cameras are on them, and the mics are on, and a representative of S.H.I.E.L.D. is standing next to the table with a stern expression on her face.

“This is how things are going to work,” she says. “Captain America will read a statement, and then we will open the floor for questions. Any disrespectful questions will be tossed out and result in the reporter or reporters asking them to be thrown out of the conference.”

There is a murmer of agreement, and the representative stands aside.

“Captain, you have the floor,” she says.

Steve clears his throat and looks at his note cards, carefully typed up some three hours before after being okayed by Coulson. He stares at them, stares at them, and looks back out at the audience.

“Coulson approved this statement,” he says, holding the cards aloft. “He was worried I would compromise the already-tarnished image of S.H.I.E.L.D. But I'm pretty sure I won't do that.”

He sets the note cards down, and he can almost hear Coulson screaming into his phone for someone to stop him. Steve clears his throat and smiles.

“Unfortunately, I have to deviate from my planned remarks,” he says. “Pending Coulson's approval, we may post the original statement online later, but I don't know if he'll want me sharing it now.”

Natasha, sitting on Steve's left, gives him a Look. Steve just smiles serenely at her. Thor still looks sheepish about the whole thing, and Clint just keeps staring at the trees and sky. Tony's off somewhere designing something, and Bruce looks eerily calm. Steve turns back to the audience. They're shifting in their seats, eager to hear what he has to say—or, perhaps, eager to tear him apart.

“I think,” Steve begins, “that the most wonderful thing in the world is to love someone and be loved in return.”

It's a good start, and not something terribly controversial. Coulson must be livid that he's straying from the planned remarks, but at least he hasn't completely bungled things yet. Though he's only said one sentence. There's still plenty of time for things to go south.

“Whether that be a parent, a friend, a sibling, a lover, having that person or people enriches a person's life and makes them happier than if they were alone.”

He sounds like a motivational speaker, and he's aware of it. But this is on the fly, and while he's usually good at speeches, this is a little different. He has to do this for Bucky, and that makes things difficult. Steve clears his throat again.

“The man you know as the Winter Soldier,” he says carefully, “I've known my entire life as Bucky Barnes. He's been my best friend longer than most of you have been alive. His name is in the Captain America museum, for God's sake. You can read all about him.”

Now he's starting to get into dangerous territory. Any word could be the wrong one. His audience probably has read all about Bucky, has probably gotten their hands on information from shady sources about his years as the Winter Soldier. They're reporters. It's what they do. They're not looking for background information. They're looking for the dirty details.

Bucky is perfectly still in his seat, looking dispassionately out at the gathered crowd. His hands are folded in his lap, and he's traded in his armor for a close-fitting t-shirt and what Natasha refers to as “skinny jeans.” The red star on his metal arm is hidden by the sleeve of the shirt, but Steve knows it's still there. His long hair falls in front of his eyes, but he doesn't move to brush it back. Steve realizes he's stopped talking and clears his throat yet again.

“I met Bucky when we were just kids,” Steve says. “And ever since, he's been looking out for me. I owe him my life many times over.”

Natasha looks at him again, expression unreadable to anyone but those who know her well, which Steve does. She's curious. Even Bruce looks interested in where this is going. Clint is still staring at the clouds, but his posture says he's listening. Steve looks at Bucky again, who hasn't moved. He's still tense and uncomfortable, like a cat in unfamiliar territory. Steve looks at the note cards on the table and wishes for a moment that he'd stuck to them, but it was too late now.

“Bucky was taken from me twice. The first time when he disappeared into Hydra's territory, the second when he fell from the train. When I saw him again, I thought I'd lost him for a third time, but with the help of an exhaustive regimen of therapy and deprogramming, I got him back.”

Steve licks his lips.

“What you saw on the news was the result of torture, brainwashing, and cruel experimentation. It took six months to undo the years of trauma he'd undergone, and even that couldn't erase everything. He still screams in his sleep, and when he wakes, he refuses to talk about the horrors he has to relive every night. So when you clamor for him to be tried as a killer, you ask to condemn a man who has lived through unimaginable suffering to prison or death, neither of with he deserves. What Bucky deserves is a chance to prove that he can be a good man.”

There is a murmuring in the audience, but Steve can't tell if it's good or bad. So he forges on.

“Bucky loved me when I was a scrawny asthmatic from Brooklyn. He loved me when I became Captain America. And I love him now, even after he tried to kill me. The Bucky I knew and loved as a 90-pound weakling is still in there, and I will stand by him.”

He pauses.

“Thank you,” he says, and looks to the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative. 

“Well then,” she says after a moment. “I suppose that's it. We will now open the floor for questions. Remember to raise your hand, not shout out questions before your turn. If your question is answered, do not ask it again. And a reminder that if you ask ridiculous questions, you will be removed from this conference. Steve, go ahead.”

Of course, a few of the reporters just have to shout their questions immediately. Security detail escorts them from their seats to the parking lot and refuses to let them back into the roped-off area with the other reporters. The S.H.I.E.L.D. representative looks decidedly annoyed but doesn't say anything. She just lets security weed out the rude and waits for Steve to pick someone to ask a question properly.

The first question is “Does the Winter Soldier wear boxers or briefs?” The reporter is escorted out of the conference, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative looks like she wants to strangle someone.

The second is “Did you hate Sergeant Barnes when you discovered that he was the one killing people?”

“Of course not,” Steve says earnestly. “I was heartbroken that he had been reduced to what he was, and I was overjoyed that my friend was alive, but there was no hate in me, no.”

The next is a lewd one from a tabloid reporter about how many beds they've broken so far. Bucky blinks, just shy of flinching, and Steve recognizes the shift in his posture. He wants to kill the tabloid reporter. Even after the man is removed from the conference, Bucky's posture doesn't change, and Steve wonders if it was a good idea to bring him here after all.

“How does it feel to be in love with someone who has killed so many people?” comes the next question.

“A lot of people are in love with people who have killed,” Steve replies. “I killed people during the war, and so did Bucky. I don't consider what he did after to be any different.”

This time, Bucky does flinch. The reporters notice immediately, and Steve is sure the clip will be scrutinized on the 24 hour news programs later.

“Do you think Sergeant Barnes is safe to be around?” another reporter asks when called on. “For normal people to be around, to clarify. Your group is obviously comprised of...persons that would be difficult for him to harm, but what about the average layperson?”

“If I didn't think he was safe, he wouldn't be here,” Steve says.

The questions keep coming. How long has the relationship been going on? (Since Steve was eighteen.) A selection of vulgar questions about their respective sexual orientations and their sexual habits. (Those get eight people removed from the audience. They're down to about two-thirds of the original number now.) How does the team feel about the new addition?

“We feel just fine about it,” Natasha says curtly.

“The Soldier of Winter is a fine addition to the team!” Thor confirms.

“Huh? Oh. He's a good marksman,” Clint says when Natasha nudges him with her elbow.

“Tony likes him,” Bruce says. “As do I. And after all, S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a chance when I thought I was a monster, so I thought the same courtesy should be extended to Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky's posture undergoes minute changes as the questions keep coming. Steve has no doubt that they'll be analyzing all of them after the conference is over and new information becomes harder to come by. Bucky has leaned progressively forward throughout the conference, expression subtly shifting from boredom to cold, nearly invisible anger. Steve wonders if he should cut the conference short. Instead, he calls on another reporter, because they're getting antsy, and Steve doesn't want to be rude and keep them waiting.

“What are your plans?” asks a reporter in an immaculate pale pink dress. She looks up at him expectantly.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Your plans,” the woman says again. “For your relationship. Can we expect a wedding announcement in the near future?”

Steve goes red.

“I, uh, hadn't thought that far ahead,” he admits. “Right now, we're just focused on taking it one day at a time. I doubt that'll change in the near future, either, so I guess the answer to your question is no. It may still be in the cards, but we have more pressing things to worry about right now.”

“Like Sergeant Barnes' treatment?” the woman asks. “How is that going?”

“It's going fine” Bucky snaps, and the entire conference stares at him.

Immediately, the questions turn to Bucky.

“How are you adjusting?” calls one reporter.

“When did you realize you were in love with--”

“Do you and Captain Rogers ever--”

“Could you see yourself raising children, or are you too--”

“What's it like, knowing you tried to kill the man you love?”

Bucky withdraws into himself, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative calls for order. Several more reporters are escorted from the conference. Steve wants to put his hand on Bucky's shoulder to reassure him, but he's afraid to show anything resembling affection in public. It's probably a holdover from the old days, when showing affection for Bucky could get them both arrested or worse. He can show affection now, when there are parades and television shows and activist organizations for people like them. But that old fear stays his hand.

“Okay,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative says wearily, “let's try this again. Steve, you call on people, and reporters, kindly shut the hell up until he picks you.”

Steve smiles and waits for the remains of the audience to settle down. Steve wants to pick all of the women first, but he's restrained himself a little and interspersed his selections with men. These days, even letting women go first could be interpreted as sexist, and Steve wants to be as polite as possible, even if it means running counter to his instincts. He does select a woman next, though, or at least he thinks the person he calls on is a woman. They have a voice that is neither low nor high, and they are dressed in a crisp suit that makes their body look flat and straight as a board. Steve wonders if this is one of those androgynous people he's heard so much about since asking Tony who sang that “Rebel Rebel” song on the radio.

He's so focused on his thoughts that he almost misses the question.

“What would you say to the people and organizations that say Captain America needs to maintain a certain public image for the sake of making the country look good?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

The reporter pauses before saying “There are a number of anti-gay groups and politicians speaking out against having you as a figurehead for the country. They worry about the effect your being out will have on children and teenagers.”

Before Steve can formulate a good, tactful answer, Bucky is leaning into his mic again, snarling at the audience as he speaks.

“They can go fuck themselves,” he snaps, and even though there's an audible gasp from the reporters, he continues. “When Steve and I first admitted our feelings to each other, we were too terrified to so much as bump into one another in public. I was so scared, I kept picking up dames I had no interest in just to keep up a reputation as a ladies' man. If anyone had found us out, we could've been killed for it. Fuck, we could still be killed for it if we weren't so much stronger and faster than anyone who would want to drop us.”

Steve is glad that there's a two-second delay on the live feed. He knows Bucky's not done, though, because his fists are clenched in his lap, and his shoulders are trembling with emotion, and there's still that cold fury on his face. Steve finally does put a hand on his shoulder, calming the shaking but not the anger.

“Steve said that the best thing in life is to love somebody, right? Then why would our love be any different? We're happy together. I'm a fucked-up, shell-shocked son of a bitch, and I know I keep Steve up at night with my nightmares and PTSD episodes, but he makes me happy, and for some reason, he still loves me and cares about me as a person. How dare anyone think that's any less valid than the love those shit-eating politicians feel for their wives?”

Clint is clearly enjoying this, Steve notices when he looks over at him. Natasha is carefully concealing a grin and probably a giggle, and Thor is staring proudly at Bucky. Bruce has the same expression on his face as before, but then, with a guy who can't afford to show his emotions unless the world needs saving, you can't expect much different. Tony is probably watching this over a holographic monitor and laughing his ass off. And Coulson is probably making a series of damage-control-related phone calls.

Bucky is still going, too.

“When we were young, we had no one to look up to who was like us. No one dared be openly queer, and the few bars we could go were raided by police without warning. We thought we were abominations because that was all they told us. These days, I can't even remember all the celebrities who are queer. If Steve and I had grown up in this time, we would've had the chance for open, compassionate support. That would've been a miracle for two lonely punk-ass kids like us.”

The reporters look stunned that Bucky is speaking so much. Steve removes the hand from his shoulder and lets him continue, knowing that Bucky has to keep talking until the anger runs its course. He usually stays quiet, even around Steve, but when something is important, he won't shut up about it.

“Instead, we got told people like us were going to hell, that we were less than animals because of who we loved. I'm not gonna tolerate that anymore, not when there are children and teenagers out there who might feel less alone because Captain America's a queer. You can talk about how many people I've killed and all the damage I've caused all you damn well please, but nobody better fucking dare suggest that Steve loving me makes him any less than human.”

With that, Bucky shoves his mic off of the table, and it falls to the raised platform with a thud and a squeal of feedback. The sound guys immediately shut it off, and Bucky leans back in his chair, expression blank and disinterested once again. Steve carefully reaches over and briefly squeezes Bucky's hand. He's smiling, grinning, really, even as the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative turns on her mic and clears her throat.

“I think this conference is over,” she says calmly. “If you have any further questions, please contact S.H.I.E.L.D.'s PR department to request an interview. S.H.I.E.L.D. reserves the right to refuse any and all requests, but it's the best chance you'll get of having your remaining questions answered. Now, please, exit in an orderly fashion, and no yelling more questions at our panelists.”

In the end, Coulson calls and says that despite the expletives, the press conference was a complete success. Thor congratulates Bucky on his impassioned speech and gives him a bear hug that lifts him off the ground. Clint and Natasha don't say anything, but Steve can tell they're proud of Bucky, too. Bruce takes Bucky aside; he's been looking at updates on his phone during the whole conference, sneaky bastard, and he tells Bucky that several LGBT organizations want to talk to him, along with every major news outlet in the country. Steve is a little worried that the exposure might be too much for Bucky, but to his surprise, Bucky immediately calls Coulson and asks to be put in touch with all four organizations as soon as possible.

Tony, of course, is thrilled. He wants them all to wear rainbow ribbons in support, but upon being told the pins won't go through their uniforms, he fashions patches with an adhesive that will peel off easily when exposed to the heat of an iron. It's no secret that Tony is a raging pansexual, but he came out years ago. He's old news by now. He sets Pepper to work organizing a fundraiser and serves them all drinks in his penthouse until the early hours of the morning, when all who are not superhuman totter off to bed (or rather, the plush couches scattered throughout the penthouse), and all who are superhuman—that is Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Bucky—settle around the bar to talk.

“So you have the homophobes crying for your resignation from the Avengers,” Bruce says to Steve and Bucky, “and the LGBT organizations clamoring for you to be their spokespersons. That's an interesting place to be in.”

“I don't want to be anyone's spokesperson,” Bucky insists, knocking back a glass of no doubt very expensive whiskey. “But if it helps some scared kid feel like they're not broken, I'll do what I have to.”

“I think it would be good for you to work with at least one of the organizations,” Steve says. “Maybe not as an official spokesperson, but at least to help with fundraising and maybe organizing events. You're good at planning things, Bucky. You see details.”

“No fireworks, though,” Bucky insists. “Nothing I go to will have fireworks. Or any other loud, sudden noises. You know they make me have...episodes.”

“Of course,” Steve reassures him, because if Bucky is worrying about something that specific, he must really want to do this.

“I feel a little bad that I ranted at that reporter,” Bucky says suddenly. “And was that a man or a woman?”

“Does it matter?” Bruce asks. “But no, I'm pretty sure they knew you weren't ranting at them, but at a system of oppression.”

“System of what?” Bucky asks.

“Oppression. You'll learn a lot of new words and language rules if you go through with this, Bucky. Like for future reference, not everyone enjoys being called queer, and calling someone 'a queer' is generally frowned upon these days.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, quietly. “So that was wrong to say?”

“I don't think anyone will fault you for it, Bucky,” Steve says, clapping him on the back. “Your last conscious thoughts before ten months ago were from the 40s. They didn't exactly keep you up to date on political correctness while they were—well. You know.”

He doesn't want to say it for fear of triggering another episode, but Bucky seems unfazed.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says.

“It would be good, I think,” Thor says suddenly but carefully, “if you were in our company more often, Bucky. You have a good mind.”

Bucky smiles a little at the way Thor says his name, like he's unsure if it's appropriate to refer to him by his nickname.

“That's definitely the first time someone's said that to me,” he says with a short bark of laughter. “But thanks. Yeah, I think I'd like to eat with you guys sometimes, maybe. If I'm having an okay day. Some days are harder than others, you know.”

“Of course,” Bruce says, and Steve knows he knows what it's like. Not PTSD, maybe, but the feeling that you don't have control over yourself and the feeling that you'll ruin everything you touch. “If you want to, you can swing by the labs sometime, and I can help you try your hand at meditation again.”

The first attempt by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s psychiatric team had been a resounding failure, but maybe that was because they didn't have Bruce's unique experiences behind them. Bucky nods. He hasn't been through what Bucky has, but Steve has the feeling Bruce will be able to relate anyway. Bruce gets up to make a pot of tea, apparently tired of the alcohol, and Steve follows, leaving Thor to talk to Bucky.

“Do you think he'll be able to handle all ths?” Steve asks when they're out of earshot.

“Maybe,” Bruce says with a shrug, filling the kettle with bottled water. “Maybe not. We'll have to wait and see, I suppose.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Steve asks. “What if something happens? What if something triggers his PTSD? Or his assassin's training? Or both?”

“You trust him, don't you?” Bruce says calmly, setting the water to boil.

“Of course, but that doesn't mean I trust anyone else with him.”

“Then go with him. If anything looks wrong, make your excuses and get him somewhere safe. He already sees you as his lighthouse in the storm, Steve.”

Steve laughs at him and doesn't speak again until after the kettle starts to boil and Bruce takes it off of the heat. Bruce scoops a generous heaping of loose leaf tea into the infuser included in the large glass teapot and pours boiling water over it. Humming, he sets a timer so the leaves don't over-steep and leans against the counter, watching Steve's expression like he knows Steve wants to say something.

“I'm worried I won't be enough to protect him,” Steve says finally.

Bruce makes a small noncommittal sound and waits for the timer to go off so he can dump the tea leaves into the garbage.

“You've been protecting each other for years, Steve,” he says, pouring tea into four mugs and enlisting Steve's help to bring them to the bar. “You'll be enough. But if you need help, we're here for you, too. Bucky's part of the team now, and we don't leave one of our own hanging when things get tough.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and then they're back at the bar with the tea.

“I was just telling Bucky about Asgard's fine romantic traditions, in case the two of you wish to wed there for the sake of privacy,” Thor says jovially, taking his mug of tea and swallowing it all in one long draught.

“You're supposed to enjoy tea slowly, Thor,” Bruce says, but he doesn't seem overly bothered. “And I wouldn't mind going to Asgard. From what Thor says, it's beautiful.”

“And they're all a bunch of damn queers there,” Bucky says brightly, “so we'll fit right in.”

“And his brother fucked a horse,” Tony says from his sprawl across the nearest couch.

“He was a mare at the time,” Thor corrects him, “so it was really more that—“

“Thor, please,” Natasha says, sitting up and running a hand through her matted hair, “it's too early to be talking about that.”

Clint, who has curled up on another couch instead of taking one of his usual perches near the ceiling, groans and raises his head to look at the four by the bar.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“You've been asleep for several hours,” Thor informs him.

“Not long enough,” Clint mutters and drops his head back onto the couch.

“So this is who I have watching my back, huh?” Steve asks, grinning. “Some hungover geniuses, a giant green rage monster, and a guy whose brother—“

“Don't start,” Natasha warns, hobbling over to the kitchen to pour herself a mug of tea.

“At least I called you a genius,” Steve calls after her.

He looks over at Bucky, who's gone quiet and introspective.

“Do they have my back, too?” he asks, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Of course,” Bruce says. “I was just talking to Steve about that. He's your first line of defense, but we're always waiting in the wings.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly.

Steve squeezes Bucky's metal hand, and for once, Bucky doesn't flinch when he touches it. Progress, he thinks, and smiles.

“Come on,” he says to Bucky, pulling him off of the bar stool. “I think it's about time to head to bed. Gotta rest up for your interviews.”

Tony whistles at them, but they ignore it.

“You guys should go to bed, too,” he tells the others. “You all look like Hell.”

Thor is slightly confused and asks why Bruce why Steve thinks they all look like his niece, but Steve and Bucky are already in the elevator and don't hear the reply, amusing though it must have been. Steve rests a hand in the small of Bucky's back as the elevator carries them to their floor, holding Bucky's carefully blank gaze until Jarvis announces that they've reached their destination.

In bed, Bucky presses himself against Steve's body like he can melt into him if he tries hard enough. It's a familiar position, and Steve strokes Bucky's back to keep him calm. Bucky gradually settles down, stops trying to make them into a single being, and rests his head on the pillow so he can stare into Steve's eyes. Steve raises his hand to stroke his hair then and smiles.

“You sure you're okay with those interviews?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky replies, “but I feel like I have to try.”

“See?” Steve says with a quiet chuckle. “You're a good guy. You want to help people.”

Bucky stiffens next to him, but whatever he's feeling must pass, because he relaxes again soon after.

“I guess I am,” he says softly.

Steve kisses him, slow and gentle. The S.H.I.E.L.D. representative will be calling them in four hours, according to the clock on the nightstand, to get them up and ready for Bucky's interviews. It'll be four of them, one after the other, so Bucky has to make sure he's well-rested. Four hours will be enough time, Steve thinks. He feels Bucky's breathing slow and his body relax further into sleep, and he smiles, wondering how he got so lucky to get Bucky Barnes back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes on four interviews. They should have known better than to ask him to talk, but at least the internet likes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this chapter. I may delete it, or I may add a third part. I'm not sure right now. But I wrote it, and it's passable, so I'm posting it anyway. I hope this isn't a waste of your time and that you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed the idea of it. Mild warnings for transphobia, transmisogyny, erasure of non-cis and non-gay-or-lesbian identities, mentions of PTSD, and more soapboxing.

Bucky wakes up two and a half hours later and gets up, stumbling into his jeans and making his way to the laptop Steve has sitting on the desk across the room from the bed. He yawns and boots it up, typing in his name when the password prompt comes up, because of course Steve's password is Bucky. He waits for the internet to connect and sneaks a glance at Steve, who's still sleeping soundly and tangled hopelessly in the blankets. A small chime distracts him; an instant messaging client is open and flashing with new messages.

Curiously, Bucky clicks onto the little window. Three of the messages are from Tony, who apparently ignored orders to go to bed and went to his lab instead. The first is a simple query as to whether they're still up, the second is lewd speculation on the activities distracting him from the computer when he's still signed into his instant messenger client, and the third is a reminder that Bucky's arm needs a tune-up soon. The other four messages are from friends who want to know more about Bucky. He minimizes the window and goes to Google, typing in the name of the first of the four organizations he's granted interviews to.

Time for some research.

The first organization, the largest by far, seems okay. They advocate for same-sex marriage and comprehensive sex education in schools. A lot of celebrities endorse them and donate to the organization. They seem like a safe thing to support. Not necessarily that it's the best organization out there, but that he wouldn't get any flak for endorsing them.

Until he looks at other LGBT message boards and news sites. There, he finds that the organization doesn't support coverage of sex-reassignment surgery by insurance companies, and he finds a long trail of bisexuals and something called asexuals who frequently cite examples of how the organization is erasing them. Trans women, a term which Bucky was unfamiliar with but quickly learned was apparently a name for people who were born male but felt female—he'd even met a few back in the old days, he realizes, but he had dismissed them as ordinary queens—are up in arms over something they said a few months prior. Overall, Bucky decides that he's going to make this interview as difficult as he possibly can, because if the people the organization was trying to help were this angry with them, they must not be doing a good job.

The second isn't much better. It embraces bisexuals, but trans persons are still conspicuously absent from official campaigns and awareness projects. Bucky decides he's going to give that one a rough time, too, because those dames he'd met back in the old days were good people, and they deserved to be included under the queer umbrella—another term he learns as he's researching, and he likes it quite a bit. It feels inclusive, even if Bruce had said not everyone likes being called queer.

The other two organizations are small, but they're national, and they both have trans people in leadership positions along with the usual white gay cisgender men. (Cisgender is another word he learns that day, one that describes people like himself and Steve, so far as he knows.) They're not perfect, not if his research is anything to go by, but they make an effort to apologize when they fuck up, and they alter their language and behavior to make it harder to make the same mistake twice. Bucky likes the smallest one better because it's the only one that talks about the importance of not outing people, but he resolves to be at least polite when he's at both interviews.

Steve gets up when the S.H.I.E.L.D representative calls them, voice alert and friendly even though he's been awakened from what looks like a deep sleep. He rolls out of bed, gropes around on the floor for his underwear, gives up, and gets out of bed to find a fresh pair. Bucky admires the view but doesn't try to initiate anything. They might be able to get off in the shower, but they're on a tight schedule. Besides, he can wait until after the interviews for sex. He's not an animal, no matter how much the media likes to compare him to one.

“You should've slept longer,” Steve says, pulling the day's neatly ironed outfit from the closet.

Bucky wants to wear the same jeans he wore the day before, but Steve tells him the public will know they're the same pair and fixate on them if he does. He's seen them do it to Clint's favorite shirt, and the results were disturbing. So Bucky wriggles out of the jeans, pads over to the closet, and finds another pair in a slightly different style to the ones he'd worn the day before. They're both black, but then, pretty much all of what Bucky owns now is black. 

They'll be taking photos, Steve warns, so they have to shower and make themselves presentable. Bucky thinks that it might be better for them to show up looking exhausted and debauched, that the public will probably like it better if the fetishization of famous couples he's found online is any indication, but he obeys Steve without complaint. Steve dries his hair for him, patiently waiting until there's no dampness against his fingers when he runs his hands through Bucky's hair, and he kisses him when he's done.

They find Bucky a shirt, another close-fitting one, this time with a low neck that shows off his collarbones, and Steve brushes his hair before he combs his own. Bucky doesn't need help, but he likes the intimacy of it, the feeling of being taken care of. It's something he's not used to, even with most of his memories back. Usually, he was the one doing the caretaking back in the day.

They leave Stark Tower, which always makes Bucky nervous, and get into a very expensive-looking car waiting for them at the curb. The S.H.I.E.L.D representative is in the passenger seat with their itinerary, informing them that the third interview will take place over dinner. She hopes they got a good meal in before they left, because dinner isn't for awhile yet. Bucky doesn't know her name, but he thinks he likes her. The way she doesn't take shit from anyone is refreshing.

They pull up to a skyscraper that looks like any other skyscraper in the city, and the S.H.I.E.L.D representative takes them up to the fifty-third floor. She leaves them outside the office in which Bucky will be giving his interview, promising to return as soon as their allotted time is over. Steve thanks her and holds the door open for Bucky, who thinks about telling him he's not some dame at a bar, but the interviewer will hear it if he does, so he stays quiet.

The interviewer is a put-together woman in her early 50s, if instinct serves Bucky correctly. She looks somewhat severe, but her smile is pleasant enough. Bucky starts to sit down, but the woman tells him they have to take the photos first, so he stands with Steve awkwardly against a white paper background in a cleared-out corner of the office. Steve is wearing a crisp grey button-up and black slacks—so that they match, Bucky realizes. He hadn't even thought about that for the photos. The photographer wants them to embrace, but Steve politely declines the request and settles for slinging an arm around his shoulders.

When the photographer is satisfied with the miniature shoot, he leaves the office to look through the results, and the interview begins.

“So,” the woman says, “is this going to be a solo interview, or is Captain Rogers going to chime in now and then?”

“Are you recording this?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” the woman replies, gesturing to a small microphone on the desk. “It'll pick up the sound just fine, so don't feel like you have to get too close to it.”

“It'll be a solo interview,” Steve says. “I'm just here to supervise.”

“Are you afraid something might happen?” the interviewer asks.

“Not to you,” Steve says. “Go ahead, start the interview.”

“I already have,” the woman breezes. “So, Sergeant Barnes, when did you first know you were not heterosexual?”

Bucky wonders if Steve's words will make it into the article.

“I'm only talking if you put the full transcript of this interview online,” he says after a moment's decision. He doesn't like the idea of Steve being on that transcript, but it's the best way to keep things honest. He's pretty sure they'll try to spin his words somehow.

“Of course,” the woman promises. “Let's post a tweet about it just so you know I won't cop out on you.”

She does, and though Bucky is unfamiliar with Twitter, he knows it means lots of people will see that she promised to post the transcript. It still doesn't mean she won't try to edit the transcript before she posts it, but it's something. Bucky doesn't trust her, or anyone, really, except Steve. And maybe the other Avengers. Maybe. He clasps his hands in his lap and clears his throat.

“Okay. I guess I knew I was different when I was pretty young. Before puberty, even. It's hard to explain, but it was a feeling that something about me was different from the other boys. Steve didn't help; I think I fell in love with him the day I met him, though we were so young then, too young to really know what romantic love was.”

The questions are formulaic. When did you meet, when did you know you were in love, when did you confess your feelings. Bucky answers them mechanically, giving only as much information as he has to, until he gets bored with the whole thing. Then, talk turns to the organization itself, and Bucky perks up a little. This is the part he's been waiting for.

“What drew you to this organization?” the woman asks.

“Honestly, Dr. Banner told me you were interested in interviewing me, and I figured if you were some big-shot group, I might as well give it a try.”

The woman's face falls slightly, but her voice doesn't miss a beat.

“So you came in without knowing much about us? I can pause the interview if you want some information—“

“Oh, I did some research today,” Bucky cuts her off. “And I have some questions I'd like to ask you, if that's okay.”

“That would be fine,” the interviewer tells him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “What do you want to know?”

Steve is giving him a strange look, but Bucky just smiles at him and pulls out his phone, a gift from Jane, the scientist he takes to be Thor's girlfriend. He scrolls through his bookmarks and pulls up an article, smiling sweetly.

“I read that this young woman, a Miss Felicia, had contacted your organization for assistance with gender therapy. She was hoping you would have some resources for her, but you didn't even carry a list of trans-friendly health care professionals.”

“Our resources are spread very thin,” the woman says carefully. “We can't cater to every niche group, no matter how much we want to.”

“I wouldn't call transgender women a 'niche group,' ma'am,” Bucky replies, and pulls up another handful of articles. “This one says that another lovely young lady by the name of Beverly was turned away from one of your women's support groups because she was transgender.”

“We have to focus on reaching the largest number of people possible—“

“So that doesn't include them? Or what about this?” He pulls up a list of “famous gay and lesbian people” that the organization had released the year prior. “I notice a number of the people listed here are in fact bisexual or pansexual. Freddie Mercury? Really? I've been asleep or brainwashed for most of the last seventy years, and even I know didn't just like men. I notice there's also been no public corrections made to the list, despite a widely circulated internet petition and several widely circulated open letters to your organization from bisexual and pansexual celebrities.”

“I'm sure as a gay man, you understand—“

“I'm not gay, ma'am. I don't just like men, any more than Freddie Mercury.”

The woman cuts their interview short by fifteen minutes, and Steve shakes with silent laughter as they sit out in the lobby of the building, waiting for the S.H.I.E.L.D representative. When she arrives, she takes one look at them and sighs.

“You upset the interviewer,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well, we have to get going, so I hope you apologized, Steve, before she kicked you out.”

The next interview doesn't go much better. They ask the same questions, and Bucky shuts them down with evidence of their bigotry when he gets bored. They don't even get to have their photos taken this time, because the interviewer gets so angry, he orders them to leave with half an hour left. The S.H.I.E.L.D representative is waiting for them in the lobby when they emerge, grinning like the cats that ate the canary.

“You're going to be a disaster for us, Sergeant,” she grumbles, but she ushers them into the car anyway. 

They get to the third interview, and it's a steak dinner at a relatively fancy restaurant. Before they can eat, though, a photographer takes them outside to photograph them against the lush vegetation surrounding the restaurant. This time, Steve puts his arm around Bucky's waist. They finish the shoot and go inside to eat and talk, Bucky feeling more relaxed this time around.

The young woman wears a headscarf and a long-sleeved shirt even though it's starting to get warm outside. Her smiles are genuine, and Bucky feels at ease around her. Before they start, she asks him his pronouns and what he wants to identify as in the article. Bucky isn't sure what his pronouns are, but the young woman explains the options, and he figures it out. After some debating with Steve, he settles on “queer cisgender man” as his identity, though he warns the young woman it may change in the future.

“That's okay,” she says brightly. “Not everybody finds the right labels on the first try.”

She doesn't want to know when he knew he liked guys, or when he and Steve had their first time. As they eat, she asks him what he thinks of the state of the queer community compared to how it was when he was growing up. He tries to give a thoughtful answer, but by his own admission, he doesn't know much about the current state of the queer community, so his answer is probably irrelevant. He does say that he's disappointed that there's still so much infighting and erasure in the community, because he'd seen the same things seventy years ago and hoped that they would have been resolved by now.

The next question is even harder. She wants to know what he wants to tell young people struggling with their identities. This he has an answer for, but he has trouble articulating it. He confers with Steve, who probably appears on the recording when they do, but Bucky doesn't really mind this time, and Bucky bites his lip.

“I guess I want to say that even if it seems like everyone hates you, there are people out there who will love you if you give it a shot. It won't fix things, but it'll make them more bearable.”

She has some other questions, but those are the important ones. They finish their meal and part ways with a smile. The S.H.I.E.L.D representative is visibly relieved when they appear in the parking lot at the prearranged time, and she sweeps them into the car and gives directions to their final stop, an art collective in a run-down apartment building.

This organization turns out to be a little too sunshine and rainbows for him. When they interview him, they ask him why he decided to use anger rather than calm discourse to share his story at the press conference. Bucky, confused, answers honestly and says it's because he was angry.

“But calling people names doesn't get you anywhere, right?” one of the interviewers asks him, eyes bright behind thick glasses.

“I wasn't calling anyone names. I was describing them,” Bucky says a little sarcastically.

Things remain a little tense for the rest of the interview, and Bucky can tell they're trying to mold him into a pacifist. He doesn't blame them; the angle would be a good one. Former assassin takes up the mantle of peace and love and seeks to change the world through patience—he'd read that. But it's not who he is, and when they leave, the interviewers just give them polite nods and show them to the door.

Bucky mostly forgets about the interviews when they return to Stark Tower, because he has Steve all to himself for the rest of the night, and there are so many things he wants to do with this time alone, he doesn't have time to think of anything else. In the morning, though, he drowsily pokes around the internet and finds the transcript of his first interview, conveniently cut off just before he started asking questions. The site claims that the recording was ended there because what followed was just rehashing of information already on the site, but Bucky just laughs and contemplates suing to get the whole tape released. S.H.I.E.L.D could probably do that.

The articles, too, are a riot. The first paints Steve and Bucky as “a picture-perfect couple” whose “eyes gleam when they talk about or to each other” and who are “reluctant to show affection in our presence, but the way they lean in toward one another is intimacy enough.” They tactfully mention that Bucky is “keenly interested in LGBT activism” despite his lack of familiarity with it, but they don't go into detail. Mostly, that article and the other one he shut down talk about Bucky's journey out of the closet and his relationship with Steve. (The second one uses a photo of them from a mission, cropped so that Natasha and Clint are excluded and it looks like it's just the two of them with concrete raining down on their heads.)

The third article is nice, but the writer needs some practice, which isn't surprising, considering the small size of the organization and its lack of resources. The young lady who interviewed him had looked like a college student. She probably didn't have much experience yet. He likes the photo of them, though, with their monochromatic outfits standing out against the lush rosebushes of the background. That article mentions the hushed conversation between them but mercifully doesn't repeat any of it, and instead, it focuses on the questions he was asked. He's thankful that the article doesn't include any lavish descriptions of the two of them or of their actions. In the end, it's a good article, even for its flaws.

The fourth one is nothing to write home about. The attempt at painting him as a pacifist fails miserably when stacked against every other piece of evidence to his character. Steve and the other Avengers have a real laugh over that, though a passing comment that he seems like the type of person animals would be drawn to sparks some discussion on how best to test that statement. Bucky retreats before they can talk him into anything ridiculous.

“Social media loves you,” Clint says, sidling up to him at the bar in Tony's penthouse fifteen minutes later. “Apparently, you look like a sad puppy. And you have quite a following online. They call themselves 'the Winterettes,' or at least, the girls do. I gotta hand it to you, Bucky. That little speech you made at the press conference completely turned the tide of public opinion. Except for the homophobes, of course, but there aren't as many of them now as there were when you were joining the Army.”

Bucky looks down into his drink and shrugs.

“I just said the truth,” he says softly. “And what are you even doing up here? I thought you were more inclined to chat up Natasha.”

“Steve thought you needed someone new to talk to,” Clint says, the ghost of a grin passing across his features.

“That was sweet of him,” Bucky replies, and even he's not sure whether he's being sarcastic or sincere.

He finishes his drink and gets up. Clint follows him, hand shoved into his pockets. Bucky stops in the middle of the floor, head cocked to the side and eyebrow raised, and just looks at Clint for a little while.

“Did he tell you to babysit me, too?” he asks.

“Just until you went back to your floor,” Clint admits. “He didn't want anyone hovering, but he wanted to make sure you weren't lonely, either.”

“I'm not lonely,” Bucky says automatically, but they both know that's not true.

“At any rate, Coulson says you have to do another press conference,” Clint tells him. “About the fundraiser Pepper's setting up. You'll have to talk to reporters again. And this time, no ranting.”

“I can't promise that,” Bucky says, starting for the elevator again.

“Steve told him that, but he was pretty insistent. I guess the articles are doing some damage with the more powerful activists around. Coulson thinks they're feeling alienated.”

“Alienated?” Bucky deadpanned. “By me? I'd never have imagined.”

“Yeah, well, you have to decide what charity to give the money to, and you have to at least try to make nice with the guests at the fundraiser.”

Clint hits the call button for him and stands aside when the doors open.

“I'll tell Steve you're going to bed,” Clint says. “I'm sure he'll want to join you right away, if the look on his face when I left was any indication. The others are really letting him have it over those articles. Pretty fuckin' funny, honestly.”

Bucky smiles but doesn't bother to reply. He starts to step onto the elevator, but Clint puts out a hand to stop him, so he just freezes in place and waits for Clint to say whatever it is he wants to say.

“That was a good thing you did, you know,” Clint says. “That whole rant? Worth it. No one should ever be ashamed of who they are.”

That's probably easy for Clint to say. As far as Bucky knows, Clint is straight. Maybe not, but even then, he, like Bucky, has a life that would afford him the luxury of being who he is, no matter who that is. Try being a starving teenager a step from living on the streets in a time when you could be applauded for beating a queer guy to death. Then again, he's seen the horror stories from the past few decades, too. Maybe things weren't so much better now. Still.

He's so absorbed in his thoughts, he barely hears the next part of Clint's statement.

“Even you,” he says, and Bucky looks at him, confused.

“I'm not ashamed of being—“ he says, but Clint cuts him off.

“I mean about the Winter Soldier thing. It's part of you now, and you've already proven you can use your skills for good. Don't hate yourself because of something you had no control over.”

Clint's gaze flicks downward and back up to meet Bucky's.

“I was brainwashed once, and I did bad things. But that wasn't me. That was my programming. It wasn't nearly as bad as what happened to you, but I still know how that feels. That loss of control, not knowing who you are, feeling utterly lost.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “I'll, uh, try to remember that.”

“I'll send Steve right up,” Clint promises, and Bucky finally gets in the elevator.

Later, after they're sated and clean and just lying in bed, Bucky tells Steve what Clint said about not hating himself. Steve smiles at him and says Clint was right, there's nothing to hate himself over.

“A week ago, people wanted me dead because of what I was,” Bucky says.

“A week ago, people didn't know you had no control over what happened to you. As you no doubt heard from Clint, our resident social media master, that has changed. You have millions of people relating to you now, Bucky,” Steve replies. “I've read up on some of it. It's not just the alphabet soup people.”

“Alphabet soup?” Bucky asks, and Steve grins.

“It's what I'm calling that big acronym that's supposed to be as inclusive as possible of all queer people. Since not everybody likes the word queer, I figured alphabet soup people would be a better term.”

“You're impossible,” Bucky laughs, burying his face in Steve's shoulder.

“But really, Bucky,” Steve says, “it's not just them. I saw a whole forum for people with PTSD say you gave them hope. That you talking about your episodes made them feel less alone, too. Because if a superhero can have PTSD, that means that what happened to them really was that bad. It's not just all in their head.”

“I thought Stark had PTSD,” Bucky says.

“He does, but he's not vocal about it,” Steve says with a shrug. “Besides, he's not super-human.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal sound and closes his eyes. Steve strokes his back, light and even pressure down his spine. Bucky sighs and burrows deeper into the blankets.

“You have that press conference to prepare for,” Steve says suddenly, and Bucky cracks one eye open.

“Yeah, but I don't have to write anything out. Coulson's letting me wing it.”

“We'll still have to plan what you want to say,” Steve insists. “It'll be your job to get the correct information out as well as encourage people to donate.”

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” Bucky asks drowsily.

“Sure, Bucky,” Steve says, running a hand through Bucky's tangled hair.

Bucky's last thoughts before sleep overtakes him are nervousness at the prospect of speaking in front of a crowd again and comfort in the knowledge that Steve won't let him fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy! Bucky speaks at the press conference about the fundraiser Pepper is putting together, and then he and the other Avengers attend said fundraiser. Bucky isn't sure how he's going to survive six hours of socialization, but since the fundraiser is his fault, he has to be there.
> 
> Basically, things go downhill. Hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious angst and warnings for depictions of dissociation, depersonalization, PTSD, nervous breakdowns, and generally a host of ooky mental illness stuff I'm putting Bucky through for this one. I do not claim to be an expert in PTSD or its treatment. Any inaccuracies in the depiction of any of the mental-illness-related content of this chapter is the result of excessive poetic license.
> 
> Long story short, I wanted to torture Bucky a little more, and I made his "episode" or "attack" or whatever you want to call it as awful for him as I possibly could. My own experiences were referenced for parts of this chapter, but this was largely written without research. I hope y'all still enjoy it.

Bucky actually does have notes for the press conference, in the end. Steve convinces him that just going up and trying to remember everything he needs to say off the top of his head is a bad idea, and when he gets in front of the crowd, he's glad for it. He's wearing a button-down shirt that feels too tight across his chest and strained against his arms and another pair of skinny jeans slung low enough that if his shirt rides up, the tops of his hipbones will be visible, along with the sharp V of muscle between his hips. Wouldn't the Winterettes like that?

He clears his throat, infinitely more awkward than he was the last time he spoke in front of a crowd. Without that righteous anger behind him, he feels very exposed at the podium, even with Steve standing next to him. He looks down at his notes and looks back at Steve, who smiles reassuringly. Bucky clears his throat again, glances down at the notes one last time, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank you all for coming here today,” he says mechanically, trying not to crumple the notes in his metal fingers. “While there will be a question and answer period, this is mainly just an informational thing. And I guess an attempt to drum up support for the fundraiser.”

He's deviating from the notes a little, but it's okay. He's getting the gist of it. It's the first time the public has seen him speak calmly, so it's natural that more than a few mouths are gaping a little in the crowd. The public is seeing another side of him: the rational side. He looks at his notes again to make sure he gets the details right and speaks again.

The fundraiser is to be held in a week at Stark Tower, and the money will be split between three groups: two charities, selected after careful review of their policies and past behavior, and the small organization that Bucky had liked so much when he was being interviewed. Most people have never heard of this organization, so Bucky directs them to their website and gives a brief rundown of their goals.

“The Avengers will, of course, be in attendance, assuming no one tries to destroy an entire city during the fundraiser,” Bucky says, and he gets a few chuckles out of the audience.

“If someone does try,” Steve pipes up, “we'll send Dr. Banner over to take care of it. He'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy.”

Bucky isn't sure how Bruce feels about the joke, but the guy's on such an even keel, it might not even faze him. It's not like he can check anyway; Bruce is back in the labs, working with Tony on something that sounded way too complicated for Bucky to begin to understand. In fact, it's only him and Steve today. The rest of the Avengers are either on assignment or busy with the mundane tasks that so often get thrown aside when duty calls.

Bucky realizes he's stopped talking, and he clears his throat again.

“We'd love to see you there,” he says quickly, throat suddenly bone dry.

He's in front of people. Dozens of people, all perfectly helpless. He could slaughter most of them before they had a chance to run, and he could easily catch the rest. Then? Disappear, just like always. It would be so easy. He has a dozen exits, and it's not like the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents assigned to protect this press conference can protect any of the people here worth a damn in the face of the force of nature that is Bucky in his Winter Soldier state.

Steve notices something is wrong. He pulls Bucky away from the mic, stepping up to the podium himself and gesturing to the security detail to lead him back to the car. Bucky submits to the implied order, dazed and sick and on the edge of doing something terrible. He hears Steve behind him as he stumbles to the car (“He's pretty tired. Last mission beat him down pretty hard.”), oblivious to the discomfort of the security personnel, who are inching away from him. He slides into the back seat, trying to breathe evenly.

Steve slides into the seat next to him ten minutes later, and, after checking to make sure no one is looking, gives him a quick kiss on the side of the mouth. By now, Bucky is mostly calm again, but he can't shake that cold, calculating feeling that's turning everything into a target. Steve leans into him, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder, and loosely grasps Bucky's hand.

“Was it bad?” he asks quietly, so the driver standing outside the car smoking won't hear.

“I'm a fucking monster, Stevie,” Bucky groans, tightening his grip on Steve's hand. “I keep seeing ways to kill people.”

This has happened before, but usually it's when they're watching television or when security personnel pass by in the hallways. This is the first time it's happened in front of a crowd of laypersons, minus the last press conference where he wanted to kill the tabloid reporter. That was a more concentrated feeling of murder, though, not the awful emptiness of the Winter Soldier. Bucky gnaws on his lower lip and tries to will the emptiness away.

Usually, he'd banish the emptiness with sex. Steve grounds him, never more so than when he's on top of him or under him or between his legs or anywhere pressed against him. It's not a cure-all, but Bucky finds that he can think more clearly afterward. He can't do anything now, not while they're still outside of the press conference, waiting for the damned driver to finish his cigarette so he can take them back to Stark Tower. Bucky thinks about killing him and driving the car back himself—he knows the way by now—but he stifles the urges and squeezes Steve's hand a little tighter.

Finally, the driver gets into the car and pulls out of the lot. Bucky recites a silent prayer of thanks and keeps his fingers entwined with Steve's the whole ride back, desperate for any contact at all to keep him in the moment. When they arrive, he fairly sprints out of the car and through the lobby to the private elevator, which identifies him and Steve, who enters the elevator a few seconds after him. They travel up to their floor in silence, Bucky's hands clasped in front of him, and as soon as they're off the elevator, Bucky pounces.

As usual, the sex brings him back to himself, but while he wants nothing more than to keep Steve in bed and reground himself over and over again, Steve has things to do. Bucky hides in their bedroom for the next three days.

He doesn't leave their floor until the day of the fundraiser, at which point Pepper herself fetches him from his nest in the living room and brings him down to the floor on which they're doing all the makeup and wardrobe preparations. Steve appears, already dressed in a well-tailored suit, and kisses him chastely before he follows them into a dressing room. Pepper should be overseeing the last-minute preparations, but instead, she's right here, making sure Bucky doesn't have a psychological breakdown while he gets ready.

He does have a breakdown of sorts, but Pepper doesn't seem to notice. The psychiatric team called it “dissociation” or “depersonalizing,” and it makes him feel like he's watching his body do things from far away. Pepper hands him a suit that looks like it was made for him—probably was, knowing Tony—and instructs him to change into it. When he stays still, Steve puts a hand on his shoulder and repeats the instructions.

Numbly, Bucky obeys. He removes his shirt, dropping it to the floor, and reaches to unbuckle his belt. He doesn't notice that Pepper, who's caught up reading some paperwork, hasn't left the room yet. He unbuttons his jeans, shucking them off, and reaches for the suit's trousers. Pepper picks that moment to look back at him and inevitably notice that he wasn't wearing anything under his jeans. She politely turns her back, and if she's embarrassed, she doesn't show it. She also has the decency to wait until he's clothed again before she opens the door.

Steve pretends nothing happened and ties Bucky's tie for him because his hands are shaking too badly to do it himself. Bucky comes back to himself in stages as Steve's hands skillfully tie the knot, and when he's done, Bucky is back where he belongs. Steve gives him a lingering, open-mouthed kiss and catches Bucky's lower lip between his teeth just slightly before he guides him toward the door and out into the main area of the floor. Bucky tenses, but Steve is right there with him. Steve won't let him fall.

The crowd on this floor is mainly Avengers getting last-minute touch-ups on their wardrobe and makeup. Their familiarity means Bucky stays inside himself even when strangers pass him on their way to makeup. If he can stick with the Avengers tonight, he might manage to make it through the fundraiser without having a complete breakdown. He looks over at Steve, who's talking to Pepper about something he can't quite make out in the din. Bucky moves closer and catches the tail end of the conversation.

“—get that checked out,” Pepper is saying, and she smiles and strides off to take care of something.

“What was that about?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a shrug. “Come on, let's find a corner to hide in before all the good spots are taken.”

He takes Bucky down to the reception hall, which is already filling with guests. Bucky swallows and tries not to feel nervous. But Steve is there. Steve won't let him fall. So he focuses on his breathing and follows him to a table in a secluded corner that no one has claimed yet. They push past godawfully gaudy, giant party balloons and sit down, and a server offers them each a glass of wine. They accept, because why not? Tony's paying for the booze, so they might as well indulge. For a second, Bucky feels almost comfortable where they are.

And then the first guest of the evening introduces himself. He's old, balding, but not as old as he and Steve are, Bucky reminds himself, and his hand is cold when he shakes Bucky's in greeting. Bucky doesn't remember offering his hand to the man, but at least he doesn't want to kill this person. He can tolerate a little lapse in memory if it means he's not homicidal. He can't make himself smile, but he manages to nod like he's listening. The man seems satisfied, because he leaves with a smile.

“That was a good start,” Steve says, sipping his wine.

Bucky doesn't bother to say that he has no idea what the man said. Steve probably knows, is probably just telling him he did a good job so he feels more at ease with the next person who approaches them. Which, as it turns out, is Natasha.

“Holding up okay, there, Bucky?” she asks, passing him a disconcertingly large glass of vodka cranberry that's mostly vodka.

“I think so,” he tells her, tongue clumsy in his mouth even though he hasn't touched his wine or the vodka. “Haven't killed anyone yet.”

He tries to be cheerful, but the joke falls flat. Which is to be expected, he supposes. It's a little less funny when you know the person saying it really could massacre the place. He takes a large gulp of the vodka cranberry and, yeah, it's definitely mostly vodka. He wonders if this is the same drink Natasha gets, or if she ordered it for him because he looks like he needs it. Not that it'll do anything to him anyway. He passes the glass back to Natasha after he drinks maybe a quarter of it, and she smiles at him.

“Not your kind of drink?” she asks.

“I can't get drunk,” Bucky replies, “so why bother wasting all the alcohol on me? I'm fine with a glass of wine.”

“Understandable,” she says with a small shrug.

She takes a sip from the glass of vodka and glides away. Bucky watches her, envious of the way she can effortlessly stop to talk to anyone, even turning on the charm like a light switch. She laughs, and Bucky knows the sound is fake, but the people she's talking to sure don't seem to notice. Then, she's out of sight, and Bucky turns his attention back to Steve.

“We can stay here all night if you want to,” he says.

Bucky nods.

“We can stay here for awhile, at least.”

Another guest approaches, this one a much younger man with glasses and tennis shoes. Steve identifies the man as the owner of a popular website, but Bucky doesn't catch which one. Either way, the man seems more interesting than the last guest. He remarks on Pepper's exquisite taste, deliberately ignoring the party balloons that threaten to engulf the table, and hands Bucky a business card that he slips into his pocket without reading. 

“I must say,” the man says, “I was impressed with your little rant at that first press conference. It was very bold.”

“I only spoke the truth, sir,” Bucky says, and while this man isn't as obnoxious as the last, he wants this encounter to be over already.

Perhaps the man senses his discomfort, because he turns to Steve, congratulates him on snagging himself such a fine specimen of manhood, and bids them farewell. Bucky wonders if he should feel offended at being objectified by the website owner, but he's too numb to be very affected by anything right now. Not out of his body, but numb. He's pretty sure he prefers this to the strange floating sensation, though. At least this way, he remains in control of his actions.

Every few minutes or so, another person approaches the table to talk to them. It takes Bucky awhile to figure out that most of their guests are queer, and the ones who aren't are ridiculously wealthy. The queer ones are wealthy, too, but these people are something else. They stink of money, whereas the others merely smell of it. Bucky's pretty sure that metaphor doesn't make sense, but he understands it just the same. They compliment his suit, ask him what it's like to be an Avenger, and he tries to behave as normally as possible. Most of them don't notice anything is wrong, but a few need Steve's reassurances that Bucky is just worn out from his last mission.

Bucky wonders how long that excuse is going to work.

Thor swaggers over to their table after about an hour and a half, all smiles. He tells them of the food available along the far wall and offers to bring them each a plate if they want him to. Bucky looks at Steve. He's not really hungry, but he knows his body probably needs refueling. Steve tells Thor that of course they'd love some food, but only if he really wanted to get it for them. They could get it themselves, after all. But Thor insists, and he disappears back into the throng of people—well, wades through them, more like—and returns five minutes later with two heaping plates of food.

“Thanks,” Steve says while Bucky occupies himself with eating. “We were pretty cozy here. It would've been a shame to lose our table.”

“I suspected as much,” Thor says, grinning. “Have you met many of the guests? They are a varied and fascinating group.”

“We've met some of them, yeah,” Steve says after swallowing a mouthful of beef. “The guy in the green cloth shoes tried to hit on Bucky.”

Thor laughs.

“Let us hope that the rest of the night is as amusing,” he says and takes his leave.

Pepper comes to check on them after another half hour. They're almost at the halfway point, though Bucky knows Tony and knows that he'll throw an after party as soon as the fundraiser is over. If they're lucky, he and Steve can sneak away before things get too wild. If not, Bucky will be in for an extra three to six hours of socializing with increasingly drunk guests.

“You're doing good, Bucky,” she reassures him. “By the way, the young lady who interviewed you for that organization is here. Hold on, let me get her for you.”

She's easily one of the youngest people in attendance, probably not even old enough to drink legally. Her headscarf glitters with rhinestones that match her long-sleeved dress. Pepper guides her over to the table, where she flashes them a wide, sincere smile and takes a seat. Bucky finds her presence reassuring. Anyone who approaches them may want to talk to her as well, which means some of the attention will be deflected from him.

“Do you want some wine?” Steve asks her.

“No,” she says, laughing, “I, uh—“

“She doesn't drink,” Pepper answers for her, a small smile on her lips.

Bucky knows what she's smiling at, but Steve completely misses the fact that he's made an amusing mistake and starts chatting with the young woman. She calls New York home, has lived in one area of the city or another since she was born. She's doing a double major in communications and LGBT studies, and she plans to graduate in two years. Her name is Amina. Pepper leaves them to talk to her and goes to find Tony, who's probably getting himself into trouble while she's gone.

“I'm a little embarrassed by that article,” Amina admits, chasing a piece of carrot across the plate of food she's brought with her. “We don't have editors, so we each have to read over our own work before it's posted or find a beta reader ourselves. I didn't have time for either, and now it's all over the world. It looks terrible.”

“No it doesn't,” Bucky says quietly. “It looks unpolished, but not terrible.”

“You admit it's unpolished, though,” Amina urges.

“What matters is that you asked thoughtful questions, Amina,” Steve reassures her, “and you got thoughtful answers. Everything else is icing on the cake.”

“Thanks,” Amina says, flashing another one of her sincere smiles, and turns to Bucky. “Hey, so I heard you got sick or something at the press conference a week ago? Were you okay? People were speculating that you had some tropical disease and would need to be quarantined.”

“You read too many tabloids,” Bucky replies roughly, losing what sense of comfort he has. “I was fine. It was just leftover stress from a mission.”

“Besides,” Steve says, “I'm fairly sure Bucky can't catch any diseases. Stellar immune system.”

“Oh,” Amina says, looking slightly disappointed. “Well, I'm glad it was just stress. I hope you got a massage or something after that. I hear those do wonders for stress.”

Bucky wants her to go away. She's prying too much. He knows she means well, just wants to make conversation, but it's more than he can handle at the moment. An elderly female couple introduce themselves and smile warmly at Bucky. He definitely can't handle two guests at once, so he quickly introduces them to Amina and Steve and finishes his food. Luckily, the pair are distracted until they decide to wander off again. Amina follows them, leaving her empty plate behind.

Bucky forcuses on his breathing. And it works to keep him calm, at least until Pepper shows up again. She stops less than an arm's length away from him, and before Bucky knows what's going on, she has him by the arm and is guiding him toward the front of the room. Steve quickly follows, aware that this could very well be the thing that makes his fragile mood snap.

“You have to greet the guests formally,” Pepper explains as they walk. “It's just a simple 'hello, thank you for coming; have a nice night.' Don't worry about it.”

Bucky's used to perceiving slight changes in expression, so he knows that she's worried. Probably about him. She still has a light grip on his arm, and she leads him through the crowd, leaving Steve behind. Bucky starts to panic inwardly as he loses sight of Steve. But he pops back up the second they stop—Tony's there, looking rakish and slightly debauched, as though he's had a rendezvous with a nice dame in a broom closet, and he has a microphone.

“And here is the reason you're even here,” Tony announces to the crowd, and then he hands the mic over to Bucky.

Who stares at it like he doesn't know what to do with it. He has no idea what to say, even with Pepper's verbal cheat-sheet. His head is empty and his mouth is dry. Then Steve nudges him, and he remembers.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says, because “ladies and gentlemen” might exclude some of their guests. “I'm glad you all made it. Thank you very much for coming.”

He pauses. Is it really this easy?

“Please, enjoy your night,” he says and hands the mic back to Tony.

Tony, who has a giant grin plastered across his face and a silver envelope in his hand.

“Before you go back to what you were doing,” he says, “a moment. The results of the first half of fund-raising have been tallied. You generous, generous people donated a total of fifty-seven thousand dollars so far! Give yourselves a round of applause. The money is gonna go to some really good causes, here. Amina, why don't you step up and say a few words?”

Amina appears from the depths of the crowd, and Bucky takes it as his cue to go back to their table. If it's still available. He finds it empty, cleared of dishes as well, and sits down, grateful. At least they're out of the way, and now everyone knows who Amina is, so she'll take up more of the attention than before. Bucky feels guilty for being uncomfortable with her, especially when he felt so at ease with her the last time they met, but being around so many other people has got his nerves positively raw. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

And of course, now that the party is almost over, the tipsy and more-than-tipsy guests are coming out of the woodwork. They approach Bucky in varying stages of drunkenness, some walking confidently and some swaying slightly as they make their way over. One asks to see his metal arm, which he reluctantly shows the woman, because she asks nicely and because he doesn't want to say no to a pretty dame. She grabs at his hand, turning it over and trying to ruck the sleeve of his shirt and suit jacket up so she can see more of his arm. Bucky politely pulls away from her grasp and thanks her for her presence at the fundraiser.

The next two guests also want to see his arm, and one nearly tears the sleeve of Bucky's shirt trying to see more of the metal. Bucky grows more and more uncomfortable with the whole thing, and after the fifth drunken guest asks to touch his arm, he politely but firmly refuses. Steve, who keeps looking over nervously, steps in when they get too riled up over his refusal and distracts them until they totter off again.

Finally, the clock strikes midnight, and the fundraiser is officially over. Of course, Tony immediately declares an after party in the floor above them, and the guests flood to the stairs and elevators. Or at least, most of them do. Bucky is just beginning to settle down, pleased as punch over his ability to maintain composure for six hours in a row, when he senses someone behind them.

A nondescript but phenomenally drunk middle-aged man staggers out of the balloons. He's gripping a fork. Immediately, Bucky goes into defensive mode, ready to counter any attack the man could manage even though he knows academically that the man isn't a threat. The man turns around, in fact, and starts wandering back into the balloons, so Bucky turns away from him and opens his mouth to speak to Steve.

“I'd say that was--”

And then, three quick booms right next to his ear. Bucky's body floods with adrenaline, and his fight-or-flight instinct tells him he can either kill whoever is causing the threat or get out of there immediately. Unfortunately, neither instinct wins out, because before his brain can come to a decision, memories of gunshots and blood and pain, amplified by successive booms behind him, override everything and have his legs crumpling under him.

Steve catches him, deposits him on a chair, and turns to face the drunken man who keeps puncturing balloons with his dirty fork while Bucky shakes and tries to curl in on himself on the chair, covering his ears and closing his eyes and hyperventilating. He starts to shout something at the drunken man, but his eyes fall on Bucky, pale as a sheet and shaking something fierce, and he determines that it's more important to get Bucky out of here than chew out a man stabbing balloons with a fork.

His own adrenaline pumping, he lifts Bucky bodily out of the chair and drags him to a nearby door, which thankfully is not one of the doors the guests have been exiting through. Instead, it leads down a narrow hall to the kitchen, and the kitchen leads to the service elevators. They leave the sound of popping balloons behind and enter the comparative calm of the service elevators. They just manage to board one before Bucky starts screaming.

“Jarvis?” Steve shouts, “Jarvis, are you there?”

“I recommend you take him to medical, Captain,” Jarvis says calmly, voice tinny through old speakers.

“Just take us to our floor, Jarvis,” Steve demands over the reverberating sound of Bucky's screams and sobs. “He needs to be somewhere familiar right now.”

Jarvis doesn't say a word as he takes them to their floor. They come out in the kitchen, and Steve hauls Bucky through their quarters to the bedroom. Bucky is still screaming, unable to form coherent sentences. His screams are the most gut-wrenching sound Steve has ever heard, and he's listened to men die. Steve lays Bucky out on the bed, heart racing, trying to think of anything he can do to stop this. Bucky curls up in the middle of the bed, shuddering hard enough to shake the bed frame, and gasps for breath between screams and sobs.

“Bucky—“ Steve shouts, trying to reach him through the din. “Bucky, listen to me. You're okay. You're okay. Nothing is coming to hurt you. It's okay. You're okay. Bucky, listen to me!”

He tries everything he can think of short of slapping him across the face, which doesn't seem like it would work anyway. Steve doesn't want to touch him when he's like this, because who knows if he would make it worse? Pepper appears in the bedroom with a giant syringe of sedatives shortly after Steve starts to wonder if Bucky is just going to do this indefinitely. She injects him with it, and it stops the screaming, though the sobbing and gasping and shaking remain.

“I talked to the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors,” Pepper says. “They say he'll calm down eventually. Maybe pass out. Either way, he won't be like this forever.”

She gives him a look he never wants to see again and adds “We have the guy who did this to him in custody, by the way. Do you want a crack at him before we sue him?”

“No, I just—goddammit, Pepper, he was doing so much better,” Steve says hollowly.

“With cases like this, setbacks are common,” Pepper reassures him. “He'll recover from this, probably be embarrassed at the worry he put you through, and we'll send him back to therapy just to make sure there's no lasting damage from the incident. Right now, he needs somebody to be there for him when he resurfaces.”

Steve nods, and Pepper presses a hand to his back comfortingly before she leaves him alone with Bucky.

She's right, too. Bucky recovers in stages: the sobbing tapers off, the shaking subsides, the gasps turn to raspy but even breaths that fade into the slower fare of unconsciousness. Steve isn't sure if this is supposed to happen, but Pepper said it might, so he hopes for Bucky's sake that it's normal to pass out after an episode like this.

The other Avengers visit while Bucky is asleep. First, Clint and Natasha, who both volunteer to take out the drunk guy and make it look like an accident, stand at the doorway to the bedroom like they're afraid they might make things worse if they went in. Almost as soon as they leave, Bruce shows up with a pot of tea, an electric kettle, and a tin of loose leaf tea that he says is good for stress. He lingers long enough to drink a cup of tea with Steve, then takes his leave. Steve drinks another cup of the tea, which is just plain green tea and different to the stuff in the tin, and waits for the rest of them to show up.

Thor does around breakfast, bearing plates of pancakes. Bucky still isn't awake, but despite his worry, Steve is ravenous. He eats most of them, but Bucky stirs in his sleep, and suddenly, Steve isn't hungry anymore. Bucky doesn't wake up.

“I could not imagine the suffering that the So—that Bucky has seen,” Thor says softly. “I have fought many battles, but none were solely in the mind.”

He dumps the last of the pancakes in the garbage and sighs.

“I hope that Bucky returns to us,” he says, and leaves.

Tony is the last to visit, of course. Bitterly, Steve starts to ask him if it's because he had an after party to host, but Tony is surprisingly sober, if unshaven and rumpled-looking, and he shakes his head.

“We sent the guests home after we announced the final numbers for the night,” he says. “Clint saw what happened, and he told Pepper. She thought it would be best to shut things down early. We're suing the guy who did it. Thought about pressing criminal charges, but it'll be easier to settle than drag everyone through a trial. Whatever we get, we'll donate to the veterans' charity, with at least part of it set aside specifically for mental health research and treatment.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and he tries to sound as genuine as he can when he's so tired. “Bucky will be happy to hear that. When he wakes up.”

Tony smiles.

“You better get some sleep before your prince charming wakes up,” he suggests, “or you'll be falling over before you know whether he's out of the woods yet.”

Steve calls Bruce up again and sets up two armchairs near the bed. He takes one and gestures to Bruce to take the other.

“I only need a couple hours of sleep,” he tells Bruce. “If Bucky wakes up, get me up immediately.”

“Why did you ask me?” Bruce asks.

“You're the least likely to let me sleep if Bucky does wake up while I'm out,” he says with a shrug. “And because Bucky likes you.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce says. “Now get some rest.”

Which he does, for exactly two hours and four minutes. He starts awake, looking at Bucky to see if he's up, and settles back in the chair when he realizes Bucky is still asleep. Steve stretches in the chair, watching Bucky's breathing. Bruce is watching him calmly, and he asks if he can go get some rest himself. Steve nods and thanks him.

As it was, it takes Bucky a full eighteen hours to wake up. Steve hangs back a little when he sees Bucky stir, doesn't want to get too close in case he sets him off again. Bucky opens his eyes, and his face is a mask of panic. He thrashes into a sitting position, looking around like he doesn't recognize anything around him, until his eyes land on Steve. Confusion.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly. “Bucky, it's okay. You're safe. You're in Stark Tower, up on our private floor. Nobody's gonna get you here.”

Bucky closes his eyes and clamps his hands over his ears. For a second, Steve thinks it's starting over again, and he braces himself for another onslaught of screaming. But Bucky just crouches in the middle of the bed, muttering to himself. Steve only understands what he's saying after nearly half a minute of it: his name and location. He reaches for Bucky, but Bucky pulls out of reach even though he can't see him.

“No,” he says, pained. “I can't—I need to think.”

He takes another five minutes for Bucky to open his eyes and put his hands down on the bed. He looks up at Steve in a daze. Steve wants to hug him, kiss him, do anything, but he can't touch Bucky while he's in such a fragile state. Bucky looks down at his hopelessly wrinkled suit and starts to undo the buttons of his suit jacket.

“I'm Sergeant Bucky Barnes,” he mutters under his breath. “I'm in Stark Tower, and I'm with Steve Rogers. Sergeant Bucky Barnes, Stark Tower, Steve Rogers.”

He tears off the suit coat and rips open his shirt, buttons flying all over the bed.

“Where were we?” he asks, voice raspy.

“At a fundraiser. They donated a hundred and five thousand dollars to split between two charities and that organization that interviewed you,” Steve says.

“Fundraiser...” Bucky fumbles at his belt and gets it unbuckled on the third try. He looks up. “I remember people talking to me. Amina talked to me again. I'm glad her group got a lot of money. They deserve it.”

He gets off the bed and stands on shaky legs. Bucky unbuttons and unzips his trousers and shrugs them off, shivering a little as his skin is bared to the cool air.

“I need a shower,” he says dully and walks to the bathroom unsteadily.

Steve wants to help him, feels horrible for just standing there, but it's all he can do. Bucky is too fragile for anything more than talk at this point. So he waits for Bucky to return, and when he does, clad in a towel and hair dripping onto his back and shoulders, he has more questions.

“What happened?” he asks. “All I remember is people trying to touch my arm—my metal arm—and then everything went dark.”

“You thought you heard gunshots,” Steve says carefully. “And it set off your PTSD. Worse than I've ever seen it before. I was afraid you were...permanently broken.”

“How did—no, nevermind,” Bucky sighs, and runs his metal hand through his hair. “I probably shouldn't know what exactly happened. Shit.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. Steve wants to go to him, but he restrains himself. Bucky will ask him to when he wants him to touch him. Steve has to trust that. So he stands there, out of arm's reach, and waits.

Steve waits through dinner, which is an entire pound of hamburger on four buns, half a dozen eggs, and an entire bunch of grapes. He doesn't eat, just watches Bucky shovel food in his mouth like he hasn't eaten in weeks. Which, he supposes, it must feel like to him. Having an episode that severe must be draining. He cleans the dishes and keeps an eye on Bucky as he wanders around their quarters, clad in a pair of black jeans and looking a little lost, and he waits until he hears Bucky's voice from the bedroom call him to him.

“I still don't feel real,” he admits, expression and voice hollow. “Steve, help me. Please.”

So Steve takes him into his arms, and they go to bed. They stay there until morning, when Bucky insists he wants to see everyone else, and Steve can't refuse him. He makes Bucky decent before he finds his own clothes, and they pad down to the communal kitchen where the team is gathered for breakfast.

“Well, well,” Tony says, “guess Sleeping Beauty here finally woke up.”

“I just wanted to thank all of you,” Bucky says, ignoring him. “Steve told me how you helped him while I was...asleep. I, uh...fuck, guys, you're, you're good people.”

“Did Steve tell you we were going to kill the guy who did this to you?” Clint asks.

“He did, actually,” Bucky says with the ghost of a smile. “I thought it was excessive, but I appreciated the sentiment.”

“We're donating whatever we get out of him from the lawsuit to the veterans,” Tony tells him.

“That's real good of you guys,” Bucky says. “They need that money to help people.”

“I scheduled an appointment with your psychiatrist on Monday,” Pepper says, entering the room from the communal living room. “And your psychologist. They'll look you over and see if we need to think about putting you back in regular treatment.”

“Thank you,” he says again. “You weren't kidding when you said you would help Steve take care of me.”

“Of course not,” Bruce says, and the others voice their agreement. “We're ohana. And ohana means—“

“I'm never letting you watch Disney movies again, Banner,” Pepper sighs, rubbing her temples. “Way to ruin the moment.”

Bruce just smiles.

“I had to do something to lighten the moment,” he insists, and Steve snorts.

Steve and Bucky go back up to their quarters after breakfast and immediately strip down for bed again. Bucky is still shaky, still a little dazed, and more sleep will likely do him good. Steve wants to stay with him every second, especially now, with Bucky so fragile. It may take weeks before he's back to normal—well, “normal.” It'll be years before he works through his trauma, if he ever does.

But right now, Bucky is pressed against Steve's side, and his head is on Steve's chest, and they breathe in unison. And despite the major setback Bucky has experienced, this moment, right here, is perfect, and Steve wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint talks Bucky into joining social media sites. Once again, things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not happy with this one, either, but I'll post it. Bucky exploring social media amuses me. Not sure how many more chapters there will be of this; I'm losing inspiration for this plot, but that could just be because I've written something like 33k words of Stucky fic in five days. At any rate, if this wasn't already a thing, I really hope I start a trend towards queer activist!Bucky, because it's my new favorite thing. Hope y'all enjoy, and I'll see you next time.

Bucky doesn't “do” social media.

He knows the internet is extremely useful. He's well-acquainted with it, and he uses it regularly. But social media platforms? He avoids those like the plague, no matter what Clint says about how wonderful they are for communication and dialogue. Bucky doesn't want to communicate, and he doesn't want to debate things. He just wants to do the research he sits down to do and leave it at that.

Clint shows him a website for people with PTSD. Bucky makes an account there, username something nondescript so no one will know it's him, and pokes around a little. There's a sub-forum specifically for talk of episodes, which he reads through when he gets extra time. It's comforting, in a way, to see that there are other people who have panic attacks and complete mental breakdowns due to innocuous things. He's still not sure what caused his last breakdown—the Avengers won't tell him—but he knows that nothing seemed wrong before his memory cut out on him, so he assumes whatever triggered it was similar to what caused these people's.

He posts there a lot, telling himself it isn't social media, so it's okay. He avoids any kind of detail that would let people figure out who he is, where he is, but he finds himself able to share a surprising amount of information with total strangers. Clint has an account there, too, and Bucky knows he reads his posts, but they never talk about it. Which is just as well; he's not sure how they would go about broaching the subject, even.

Then, Clint shows him Twitter. Which is definitely social media. He says it's good for keeping track of the news, which Bucky really has no interest in, and that it's good for short conversations with people. Bucky has no one to talk to, so that's out, too, but Clint insists he make an account anyway. He chooses a username that people won't recognize, follows a bunch of news outlets and Clint's account, and stares at the screen until Clint prompts him to make a twet.

“Hello,” he types. “This is my first tweet.”

He hits send, and Clint groans.

“You really need to learn how to communicate with people,” he says.

“What communication is there here?” Bucky asks. “I have no followers.”

“You will,” Clint insists.

And he does, eventually. Mostly bots, but there are a few actual people there. Bucky follows them and tries to engage in conversation, but he's bad at it. Clint is much better at it, and Bucky finds himself more interested in the conversations he's having than anything he's doing himself.

Clint's account is publicly associated with him, and he gets a lot of what he calls “trolls” trying to get him to reveal S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets, but he manages to stay calm and friendly no matter what people throw at him. It's impressive and slightly disheartening, because Bucky knows he could never get that good at talking to people. Not these days. He considers closing his Twitter account, but Clint convinces him to keep it up, if only so that he has the option to scream into the void if he needs to.

The PTSD forum is where he feels most comfortable. Screaming into the void can be nice, but it's usually nicer to have people react to what you say, in his opinion. So he keeps posting there, discussing his torture (in the vaguest terms possible) and the trauma of losing friends in battle with other people who understand him. Most of the people there prefer to be anonymous, using only their first names and not giving specific details about their trauma, and that makes him feel even more at home. He doesn't have to feel awkward about hiding who he is.

After awhile, Clint has a discussion with Steve and comes to Bucky while he's researching queer jargon. Bucky notices the moment he leaves the elevator, but he doesn't move from his chair in the bedroom. Clint will come to him if he wants to talk.

“So I talked it over with Steve,” Clint says from the doorway, “and we both think it would be a good idea for you to make an account on this blogging site.”

“You want me to have a blog?” Bucky asks, not looking up. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“You need to have another outlet for your thoughts,” Clint tells him. “You can't just keep fixating on your PTSD, no matter how much you think it's helping. This will help you branch out onto other topics.”

“You sound like my psychiatrist,” Bucky mutters, but he finally turns to look at him. “So what's this blogging site you want me to join?”

“After careful consideration,” Clint says, “We decided that the best one for you would be Tumblr. It's highly interactive, which I think is something you need. “

“Have you talked it over with the psychiatric team?”

“No, but I know it helped me to have a blog, and I'm not the only one. Bruce has a blog, too, you know.” Clint approaches him and, after checking to make sure it's okay, opens a new tab in his browser and types in a web address. “It's mostly about meditation and anger management, but he says it's calming.”

“I'm not doing it,” Bucky says flatly.

“Come on,” Clint insists. “It'll be good for you.”

“Talk it over with the psychiatric team, and maybe I'll consider it,” Bucky says.

Bruce's blog is fascinating, but Bucky doesn't know that he wants to have one of his own. Still, he bookmarks it, and he reads it when he has time. Like Clint's Twitter, Bruce has his blog made public, but he usually just gets questions about how to deal with stressful situations. Either he doesn't publish the hate, or he just doesn't get much of it. Bucky finds himself jealous of this, too, but he keeps reading. There isn't much there that Bucky doesn't already know, but it's interesting to watch him interact with readers and try to help people.

He thinks about it for a whole week before he goes to Clint and tells him he wants to make that blog after all. Clint has talked to the psychiatric team, and he says they're okay with it as long as it doesn't become detrimental to his mental health. So Bucky sits down with Clint in front of his laptop, slightly nervous, and goes through the process of making a blog on Tumblr. Again, he chooses a nondescript username, one people won't be able to immediately recognize as him, and they use the throwaway email address that he used for the Twitter account so people don't try to track him down through his public email. Clint shows him how the site works, helps him set his privacy controls, and lets him go.

The site is fascinating. Bucky learns how to search tags, and he immediately searches the PTSD tag. It's full of people talking about their experiences. Some of them obviously don't have PTSD and are just using the term colloquially, but the majority seem to be genuine. He follows several blogs that post regularly in the tag and moves on to the LGBT tags. Those are significantly less interesting, because it seems that virtually anything even vaguely related to even one of the terms is posted in all of the different tags.

He makes his first post several hours after the account is created.

“My friend wanted me to set up this account so I could talk about more than just my PTSD,” he types. “Joke's on him, because that's exactly what I'm gonna use this to talk about.”

He hits “publish” and looks at his dashboard. Two followers already, both of them blogs he followed from the PTSD tag. Bucky's lips twitch into a small smile. There are two people reading his posts now. He isn't just screaming into the void here. It's comforting and a little disquieting at the same time. He knows he has to watch what he says here, lest people find out who he is and swamp him in those troll things Clint talked about, but for now, he's content to read other people's posts and reblog things relevant to his interests.

Which are, he discovers, erotic photography, desolate landscapes, abandoned buildings, kittens, and queer activism. The first he tags diligently with the tag “nsfw,” because Clint told him to tag everything he could think of. The last he tags thoroughly as well, because you never know when someone is triggered by something. The ones in the middle? He lets those slide a lot, though not intentionally. And for someone who really doesn't want to be on social media, he sure takes to it quickly.

“I was captured during the war and tortured by the enemy,” he types a week later, in response to a post about a soldier's experiences in enemy hands. “They took my arm and forced me to turn against my own people. You're not alone, and you're not a lost cause. Even being able to talk about it means there's hope for you to live a better life.”

He hits “publish” and continues searching his tracked tags for interesting things to reblog, and he forgets about the post for several hours.

Until he goes back to his dashboard to see what he's missed and sees a reply to it.

“You're a fucking liar,” the reply states. “You stole that straight out of a book, I bet. Fucking faker. Stop replying to people's legitimate posts with lies just so you can get attention. You make me sick.”

There's more, but Bucky doesn't read it. It doesn't make him angry at first, either. People are terrible to each other sometimes, especially on the internet where there's a perceived lack of consequences for their actions. He's seen it with Clint and he's seen it with the activists he reads up on. Give a person a mask, however slight and easily-removed, and you see their true colors.

He tells Steve about it that night, and Steve gives him a strange look.

“You do know that you don't have to engage them, right?” he says.

“Why would I do that?” Bucky asks. “I was just surprised by it.”

“Good,” Steve says, and turns out the light.

But the more Bucky thinks about it, the more it does bother him. He tried to talk about something painful in an effort to make someone else feel less alone, and some anonymous asshole just had to come along and accuse him of faking his trauma for attention. It was wrong, and he didn't want to stay quiet about it. So the next day, he signs in and looks at the reply again, this time reading the whole thing. It uses several really unpleasant slurs and essentially says he's looking for attention because his life is empty and pathetic. The last bit isn't entirely untrue, but Bucky knows they're just trying to rile him up.

With a small, determined smile, he lets them do just that.

“Going around accusing people of faking their trauma is a shitty thing to do,” he types in reply. “Are you sure you're not the one with the empty, pathetic life? At least I'm trying to help people. All you're doing is deliberately attacking people who have had to live through things you probably can't even imagine.”

The reply comes quickly, as he expects. These people are all the same, watching and waiting for anyone to take the bait.

“I've been diagnosed with PTSD,” it says, “and I've been to war. You're a fucking loser who probably read about someone with PTSD and decided to use it to spice up your online persona.”

They go back and forth for awhile, Bucky getting more and more angry the longer it goes on. The anonymous blogger just keeps asserting that Bucky is faking everything and that he's trampling on people who “really” have PTSD by telling his lies. It's maddening.

And then the blogger finally wears him down.

“Why don't we get a name, then, soldier?” they ask. “If you're not faking it, you'll be happy to tell me who you are so we can look you up and confirm your story, right?”

Bucky doesn't even think about it. He just hits “reblog” and starts typing.

“My name is Sergeant James Barnes,” he types, “and I was captured and tortured from World War Two up until a year ago.”

He hits “publish” and fumes for a few minutes before he realizes what he's done. There's no sense in deleting it, though; it's already been “reblogged” by several people. He looks at the reblogs and finds people discussing whether the blog is a fake, or if Bucky Barnes really does have a Tumblr. It's a disaster, and he expects a call from Coulson at any moment.

Clint gets to him first.

“Uh, Bucky,” he says as they get their dinner in the communal kitchen, “I think you fucked up.”

“I'm aware of that, Clint.”

“You know you have eighty-six thousand followers now, right?” he tells him. “As soon as word got out that this might be Bucky Barnes' Tumblr account, people started coming in droves to see what you had to say. It's on gossip sites and everything now.”

“Well then,” Bucky says, and doesn't say anything else about it for the duration of dinner.

Coulson does call him when he gets back to his and Steve's floor. He's not angry, but he is concerned that Bucky won't be able to handle a direct line to the public indefinitely, especially given his track record with his interactions with the public. Bucky assures him it'll be fine, but Coulson insists he make a formal statement about it, at least. Bucky agrees and hangs up, a little at a loss for what to say in his official press release.

Steve helps him with it. The press release is short and to the point, and it doesn't mention the other accounts he has elsewhere. He sends it to Coulson, who approves it, and it's posted an hour after Bucky sends it to him.

The response is instantaneous. Bucky gains another two hundred thousand followers on Tumblr in a matter of hours, and his inbox is flooded with a cacophony of questions and praises and criticisms and insults. He sifts through them, deleting the inane messages as he finds them, and tries to answer some of the earnest questions. It never seems like enough, but he does what he can to answer the more pressing questions and ignores the hate he gets for fear of getting another call from Coulson.

It's all going pretty well until he's poking around on the internet, looking for blog posts and articles to promote on his own blog, and finds a long article on him and Steve from a conservative website. It's titled “Threat to America?” and it's an alarmist piece about how their relationship will lead to the destruction of American society. Bucky almost laughs at it, but then he starts reading, and he's disgusted by what he finds. It's like the 40s all over again.

Steve catches him reading and warns him not to give the article publicity. It's what they want, he says: more readers, regardless of if they agree or not. He explains how websites get money from web traffic, and Bucky is dismayed to realize that he has unintentionally given this website money himself. Steve tells him not to worry about it, that one hit won't generate that much money, but the millions of hits it would get if he linked it to his blog would generate a substantial amount of income for the site.

“But I want to respond to this,” Bucky says determinedly. “I can't just let people keep spreading lies.”

“Sometimes, you just have to let it go,” Steve says with a shrug. “You can't argue with everyone.”

Bucky consults Clint about it.

“You can address multiple concerns in a blog post,” he suggests. “Pull things from various articles and blog posts, don't quote anything directly, and don't mention any sites or users by name. You'll probably still open a giant can of worms with this, but at least you'll feel better.”

Bucky nods and heads back to his and Steve's floor to write.

He winds up with a massive post detailing every claim against him and Steve that he can find, and it clocks in at close to five thousand words. Highlights include: scoffing at the thought that the moral fabric of society can be damaged further by something as simple and innocuous as who someone loves and whether or not they get to get married; a long paragraph about the dangers of “conversion therapy;”a plea for activism not to stop at same-sex marriage rights; and pointing out that if everyone went by Leviticus, virtually everyone, critics of queerness included, would be going to Hell. Bucky looks it over when he's done, tags it with everything he can think of, and posts it.

The response is overwhelming and immediate. Mostly positive, too, which surprises him. His post is reblogged to activism sites and quoted in articles, and his inbox floods with even more messages, this time a majority of which are thanking him for his post. Bucky feels a little better knowing that he's helping people, but the hate he's getting, outnumbered by positive messages though it is, nags at him when he leaves the floor to eat.

Clint seems proud that he's created a social media monster. Natasha thinks it's a bad idea for Bucky to be left alone with a computer for very long out of fear that he'll compromise something important, but S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps an eye on what Bucky is doing to make sure nothing confidential gets leaked, so Steve tells her not to worry. Bruce thinks it's a great idea for Bucky to share his experiences with the world, but he warns him that people will be using what he says to try and deliberately make him angry or trigger PTSD episodes.

Someone does just that when he gets back to the computer, where he's been spending a lot of time lately because S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't want to send him out into the field after his last episode. The part Bucky zeroes in on is “You deserved everything that happened to you. You're a monster.” It stings, and he takes that feeling to bed with him that night.

The last sentiment is echoed in several articles he finds the next morning, rehashing what information the press has access to about his past. It's ugly, and it's enough that Coulson decides to call another press conference so they can try to smooth things over. Bucky doesn't want to talk about it, but he knows he kind of has to in order to keep the public from turning on him again.

Wardrobe dresses him in a sleeveless shirt, showing off the star on his arm, and skinny jeans. The idea is that he's not hiding the Winter Soldier part of him, but Bucky just feels uncomfortable with the way it lets people stare openly at the star. Steve is with him, of course, dressed in a tasteful sweater and slacks that go with Bucky's all-black ensemble. Steve smiles at him before they begin, confident and reassuring as ever. Bucky feels a little better to have him there.

They begin with a prepared statement, during which Bucky acknowledges that he has done many terrible things in the past. He apologizes for the damage he has caused and the pain he has brought to the loved ones of those he killed, and he takes responsibility for all of it. Then, he reminds everyone present that he was captured, tortured, and experimented on until he was a mindless killing machine. It's not an elegant speech, but it gets the job done. He finishes, and they open the floor for questions.

“Can the Avengers trust you?” is the first question.

“I think you would have to ask them,” Bucky replies.

Steve steps in.

“I trust Sergeant Barnes with my life, as do our teammates,” he says. “What he did while he was the Winter Soldier is not important to us.”

“How do you plan to make amends to the families of those you killed, and to your surviving victims?” comes another question. They really aren't letting up.

“We have already set up a fund for the victims of the Winter Soldier's actions,” Steve says before Bucky can formulate a response. “We're working on fairly distributing the funds to those who were hurt and the families of those killed, and we're putting together fundraisers for those injured who need extra help. And Sergeant Barnes has already made his public apology, as you just heard.”

“Do you think money can fix the lives of your victims?”

“I don't think anything can fix things,” Bucky says, a little angry. “But we're doing what we can to make things easier on the victims and their families.”

The questions continue, and Bucky answers them the best he can, often with help from Steve. Things go pretty well, all things considered, until one question trips Bucky up.

“How does this affect your relationship with Captain America?” someone asks.

“How does—“ Bucky starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“Our relationship is not important right now,” he says. “What's important is addressing the Winter Soldier's actions and—“

“No, let me talk,” Bucky says. “How does my past affect our relationship? That's what you want to know?”

The man nods.

“My past affects every part of our relationship, honestly,” Bucky answers. “Steve has to be careful when we're in public and watch me to make sure I'm not getting overwhelmed by everything, and he has to deal with my PTSD all the time. I saw a lot of speculation about what happened at that fundraiser, and I can tell you now that I had one of the worst episodes I've ever experienced during it, which is why the after party didn't go on until dawn.”

He pauses to gather his thoughts.

“It's hard to put Steve through that. But he wakes me up when I have nightmares, and he makes sure I'm safe. He knows that what I did wasn't me, and he forgives me for it.” Bucky looks at Steve. “For some reason, he still loves me, and I'm eternally grateful for it.”

Steve steps up to the mic.

“I can say that I wouldn't trade Bucky for the world,” he says. “PTSD or no, he's my best friend, and I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure he feels loved and cared for.”

Bucky almost expects the statement to precede a proposal, but Steve just steps back and lets the S.H.I.E.L.D. representative call an end to the press conference. He's not at all disappointed, but the cold, calculating part of him feels that Steve has missed a good PR chance by not doing it. They leave the podium and get back in the car to head to Stark Tower. This press conference is the first time he's left the tower since his episode, but he doesn't mind. He just leans against Steve in the car and sighs.

“That went really well,” Steve tells him.

“Did it?” Bucky asks. “I hope so. I really don't wanna do that again.”

“You'll probably have to address new rumors eventually,” Steve tells him, “but for now, I think they're satisfied.”

“Good,” Bucky says.”Think veterans' groups are gonna want me to to be a spokesperson for them, too?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “You would be good at it, you know.”

“I doubt it,” Bucky says with a snort. “I can barely handle the public appearance schedule I have now.”

“You don't have a public appearances—“

“Exactly.”

Steve has to go off on another mission when they get back, so Bucky goes to bed alone that night. The nightmares keep him awake for most of it, so he gets online and reads responses to the press conference. Most of them are positive, which is a relief. People are applauding him for speaking publicly about his illness and apologizing for his past behavior, regardless of whether he can be blamed for it. A few are still crying for his head, but they're a small, if vocal, minority. 

He closes the laptop and tries to sleep again, lonely without Steve beside him. Steve, who looked him in the eye when Bucky was trying to kill him and tried to help him remember. Steve, who was there after every session with the psychiatric team. Steve, who told him he loved him every day, even when Bucky couldn't remember what they'd had. Steve, who was and continues to be so much more than he deserves.

Bucky closes his eyes around dawn and dreams of ice and Steve's voice.


End file.
